MARGERY. 73

away from her face, and every now and then gave her cheek
little furtive licks.

“You love me, don’t you, Punch?” said the little girl,
hugging him up, and having her cry out. After a while she
got up and bathed her eyes, then sat down again to think the
matter over. “I don’t see what I am to do,” she thought.
“T haven’t an idea where the book can be. Oh, dear! if she
only hadn’t been so angry we could have done the examples
over together ; but there is no use thinking of that now. How
could she say I was sneaky! She will tell all the girls, and
if I should get the medal, they will not think it-was fair. I
have her ring, too; I must send that back.” And taking it
off, she laid it on the bureau.

Just then the tea-bell rang, and Margery went down-stairs,
forgetting to call Punch, who was standing with his paws on
the window-sill gazing into the lighted street.

He missed his mistress in a few moments, and flew to the
door in a transport of agony.

To be shut out from the delights of the tea-table! To miss
sitting by the side of his mistress! Not to receive sly bits from
her plate! It was too much, and he lifted up his voice and
howled. He was a very much spoiled dog, but, moreover, a
sensible one, and, finding it availed nothing to make a noise,
he straightway proceeded to amuse himself as best he could.
First there were Margery’s slippers; he picked up one and ran
around the room with it; but this was poor fun when there